I Would Never Want To Be Young Again
by Teagie227
Summary: The death of Claude Frollo did nothing to change the way Clopin acted towards intruders. But there comes a time, always, when one must ask themselves if they are going too far. Rating may go up.
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING! Very many OCs, however, they serve a story role as primarily stock characters, all but perhaps one, and even so, this story will still be a very NOT-OC-CENTRIC story. Have fun!**

**Name Pronounciation:**

**Dhaoibh: Dya-Beh. (I have no idea what Dhaoibh means but it sounds cool.)**

**Daoirse: Th-ee-r-sheh**

**Selwyn: Sell-oon**

**Sidhe: Shee**

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A very long time ago, there was a band of gypsies, numbering in about 23 or 24. A true account of the number was never officially brought to the forefront within the ill-kept records of the social interactions of gypsies. Even less kept was documentation of foreign gypsies and the manner in which they traversed the three portions of the world in that rougish, boorish era of French History that will soon be described in this story. The group was said only by rumor to have come from the lower region of Scotland, and crossed the water for unbeknownst reasons. Well, unbeknownst to most of the world until I met a young lady in upper Wales. I was always interested in the goings on of gypsy cultures and noticed she was reading a rather large and in-depth looking book on such a subject. I struck up a conversation with her, partially because I wished to show off to her my prowess in the subject because she was passably pretty in the least, and partially because I was genuinely interested about why she would read about trivial matters like this, I had by this point already decided she was a very typical and unromantic Welshwoman. She, however, was revealed to possess more knowledge about the mysterious travelling gypsies than a woman of her age and apperent social stature probably should.

A very long time ago, the gypsy court of Shahm Mhondahll perished from history, each one of them died in a tragic and barely beleivable manner. And they died _young._

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**(Julie Fowlis- Hug air a' Bhonaid Mhoir)**

Clopin slumped himself over the prop counter of his stuffy puppet stand. It was indeed a rather hot day, for Paris anyway. No children were running through the streets on a sluggish afternoon such as this. He looked up at the sky, and found that above the very heads of the Parisians medium grey clouds had manifested themselves in the atmosphere. He inconspicuously adjusted his mask and leant on his elbows instead of the haphazard and sprawled out position he'd just been in. For in the former position he'd assumed he'd looked very much like a limp snake, brutalized by a pack of mongooses, especially with his lean build. Lack of activity made him restless and he was positively _suffocating. _He closed his eyes, then opened them. God, he was bored out of his mind. He must have for at least a few minutes or so, for when he opened his eyes in the streets clearing there were street beggars. These were his streets, after all, and he knew all the beggars, he'd demanded a cut of their daily income, a very small cut, but still a cut nevertheless, and he did business with all of them (The Parisian Police certainly liked to think they kept order on the streets of Paris).

But not these beggars. These were new. Two girls, not much older than Esmeralda, and one older man, their father perhaps. One sang, in some chittery language he was sure no one understood. But whatever language she was rambling off in, it was energetic and exciting to here. Clopin, however, was quite jaded to the talents of starving street performers. The other danced, and none too gracefully, but she seemed to be having fun. He mused to himself how superior his own people were at the talent of dancing. The citizens seemed excited by such a display as well. He took a quick look about the streets to check for children and then catiously stepped out from behind his booth, to lean against a peice of wood for support, crossing his arms and examining the spectacle with little more than a cocked eyebrow. After they were quite finished, and Clopin still hadn't gotten much business, he rolled his eyes and packed up for the night.

And a one Captain Phoebus rode on horseback to the clearing to speak with the new street people. They looked so dwarfed next to him. Especially when he was mounted. They did not seem afraid of said Captain of the guard, though. Clopin pretended to go about his business and "could not help but overhear".

Upon his lame attempts at eavesdrapping, He could hardly hear what they were saying, but they spoke to the Captian in oddly accented, and far from acceptable, French and he seemed a bit taken aback simply by the presence of them. And to Clopin, it was all the same.

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"My friends, we are 23 strong!" Selwyn spoke loudly to his 22 traveling companions. "In a few weeks, we will make for Italy, then it's to Germany, the Slovak nations..."

Daoirse spoke up, interrupting him, "When will we ever stop and settle anywhere?" The young man's eyes were full of genuine curiosity

"I am hoping to get to Russia before looking for any permanent resting grounds." He thought to himself that there had to be better candidates to lead a band of travellers gone awry all across Europe and most likely back again. And upon thinking so, he ultimately decided there was no real right way to do it.

"Where is the 24th? Is she ever coming?" An older member of the group, Sidhe, jogged foreward, much to her discontent. "Where is Dhaoibh?"

"I do not know if she will ever come Sidhe. You know it is in her manner to do this. She can never stay in one place for too long." It was for the safety of future generations, they had decided. "Now, friends keep your eyes peeled!" Selwyn yelled to the darkness. They could not have any light, they would not want to draw attention to themselves, of course, his nasty habit of barking orders did not contribute to a level of undetectability.

Some bright lad saw for them a tomb soon enough, and Selwyn descended down to see if it was large enough for all of them. "It certainly seems as such, and also seems to go back for a while, if you all do not have too much of an aversion to sleping among skeletons, just for this night. Tomorrow we will seek more accomidating shelter." Selwyn turned to face his hoarde. "I must ask to set up a watch schedule, underground shelters of a size such as this are seldom unoccupied."

The Court of Shahm Mhondahll settled uneasily into the corners and walls of the underground tomb at their ringleader's words. It was so dark and wet and very, very cold. Wet. And kind of brilliant.

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**Thoughts, comments, concerns, funny jokes? Tell me what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

Selwyn had the first watch. In 4 minutes, his clan were able to huddle up close in the dank and freezing catacombs like hibernating bumblebees, and by 17 minutes they were all asleep. It took a slightly longer time for one of the gypsy guards to sneak depper underground and wake Clopin, King of the Gypsies. He rounded up enough men to suffice in under 15 minutes. Selwyn, though he was supposed to be on guard, was growing exponentially less interested with staring at the dark whilst listening to his friends and family sleep. He willied himself to stay awake, hummed a tune sofly, tapped his fingers, counted down the time until he could wake someone else. None of it was working, and the counting made his weariness grow, slowly creeping into his mind, giving it one command and one command only, _Sleep. _Of course, everyone in his group was tired, including him, but he was the leader of this troupe and he had to be brave and tough.

**(Julie Fowlis- 'Ille Dhuinn, 'S Toigh Leam Thu)**

They had traveled a long way, all the way from Scotland. They had bad experiences with large groups and hierarchies, walked on foot all the way to France, save to hitch-hike a boat across the water to the mainland, they were hungry, had elderly, they had children, and not one of them spoke more than a few words of French. He silently wished Dhaoibh would hurry up getting here. She'd only been detained a day. Someone got hurt and it was her fault. But, she should be there soon, Selwyn thought. Tomorrow, most likely. Then, the only French Speaking member of the court of Shahm Mhondahll would join them, and oh, how useful that would be. That way they could scrape together some money to feed themselves before moving on.

Selwyn couldn't help himself, his eyes shut, his massive shoulders relaxed, and his neck went all but limp from his upright position. The quiet drips of the leaky walls that the great catacombs were comprised of lulled him to sleep slowly, and easily. He heard new drips, though, very scattered, odd sounding...

Selwyn woke up with a jolt and his eyes snapped open. Very quickly he analyzed the situation, he yelled, just quickly enough, "DWENNON! THE CHIL-" As loud as he could, he mumbled the rest through some grimy rag that was placed over his mouth, and the adressed young girl shot up and the children obendiently ran after her up the steps, as she used a strength no one knew the little twig of a girl possessed to push off the concrete slab containing the unfortunate Scottish Gypsies and their captors. Quicker than the gypsy guards, who did not see children, but simply with the fleeting glances they issued in the direction of Dwennon and her younger peers saw merely people, and attempted a start at pursuation, when Clopin told them to leave it. Surely they would not come back.

Clopin took a torch from one of his many contemporaries and held it close to the intruders, he did not once recognize their faces from the street. All he saw was 16 large and threatening-looking intruders and an elderly couple.

"Well?" He looked expectantly at the gypsies before him, then eyed them like an alley cat who had it's eyes set on a particularly fat dove. The Scottish Gypsies hadn't the slightest idea what he was saying, but they guessed it was not a particularly positive thing for the purple garbed man before them to say. "What have we here? Intruders, and 18 of them, make no lie." He chuckled a bit to himself and his men did so also, a little timidly, thinking their reasonable and quick-witted King could not possibly mean to hang all of these people.

All eyes of the Scots were set on Selwyn, not in anger but in despair, fear, desperation. None of them said a word, and each pair of eyes implored their leader saying, _Save us. _Yet Selwyn, when looking around at his clan and then his captors, had a sickening gut feeling that soon, there would be little to save. He looked back at his family and friends once more, taking in their faces, absorbing them. He was not a beleiver in the Catholic God, he was sure this was it, the last time he would see them. After getting his thoughts on this order, he slowly turned his face away, a disgusted expression manifesting itself upon his countenance, he thought, _It was my fault. I brought each and every one of them to their death. They're all going to die and it's all my fault. _He detained a single tear as long as it would stand to stay in his eye. It eventually grew too large in size and rolled mournfully down his nose and soaked into the cloth that covered his mouth which gave no lamentation.

Clopin was not in a very good mettle on this particular day.

They were dragged, all of them, in their hogtied state, one guard to each "intruder" and in single file. The longer they went, the louder the sound of voices and laughing, and upon entering the main flat of the Court of Miracles, it seemed as if someone had prewarned the masses, for few children were assembled there, and the gypsy citizens were clustered around some makeshift gallows and for the fifth time since his clan's discovery at the entrance, Selwyn felt an err in his stomach. He knew now this was most definitely not a good situation to be in.

**(Gogol Bordello- I Would Never Wanna Be Young Again)**

"Gather 'round everbody, there's good _noose _tonight!" It was an old joke, and a dark one, he knew, and vastly overused, but the people seemed to still appreciate its cheesy double meaning. Eyes widened at the size of the guilty party.

It struck Selwyn as odd that they hadn't yet been properly questioned. Before his eyes, person after person who he loved so much perished at the hands of the strangers. Over and over he heard the snap of their necks and the tumult which ensued from the crowd. Barbarians. They were crying out for the blood, he could tell, he knew what faces looked like when they craved entertainment. And the man who obviously was their leader would always ask something in French, as a question, assumedly.

"Any last words?" Clopin asked the Scots in a mocking tone and cruel laughes and jeers were heard all around. Bodies of the previously killed Scots riddled the floor beneath the gallows, they could only hang two at a time. Selwyn was not one of the last to be hanged, but rather somewhat in the middle. He thought how fitting it was that he was hanged paired with his younger sister. Selwyn had no idea what Clopin was saying, but he looked over to look his sister full in the face with an interrogatory expression, asking, _Are you ready?_

She was ready.

Selwyn looked at Clopin, infuriated, hating him with every portion of his being. He and his sister turned around then, their backs to the bloodthirsty mass of gypsies.

So many people were hanged that night that the rope of the Gypsy Gallows was frayed.

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Dhaoibh walked all night, yearning to be reunited with her friends. She could see in her veiw the great city of Paris, of such great repute the Court just had to stop there before heading to Moscow. She wasn't expecting France to be this hot, however. Especially when heavy clouds, colored a deep grey, hung over the city and surrounding territory in sheets. Of course, it was further South than Scotland, yet still, the mid-afternoon heat was absolutely oppressive. She checked her map to make doubly sure she had not gone too far South sometime during the night and missed Paris all together. After double, then triple checking the map, she decided she was indeed in the right place. She was almost a mile away. Tired, hungry, dirty, but in very good spirits. She knew, somewhere in her city she would see her husband and son, her friends, and that they would all be okay. She was held back a day in Northern France. Although it was not very fitting of a lady, and she held no delusions that she was, she'd been involved in a bar fight. Afterwords, she felt bad about acting in such a manner and stayed one day to take care of any who were injured. At the gates she took a deep breath and thought she should start working on searching.

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The bodies were moved to a further reach of the catacombs, where they stored all the dead bodies. The police could never find the effect of the gypsies' vigilante justice program, and the smell never reached the makeshift living quarters. The bodies were looted but merely to show they collectively did not have much more than the common beggar did. Clopin ultimately decided it was not worth it and allowed the deceased the honour of being dead whilst clothed rather than stripped down wholly. Presently, he felt no remorse. They really did seem like plunderers with the absence of children. It scared Clopin all the way down to his guts to think that many attackers could fit in the entrance. That many people could have had at his people for as long they liked before any of the men could stop them. He thought for a fleeting moment that he should post more men at the entrance, yet abandoned the idea, since this situation was handled with little issue.

They didn't even fight. What kind of intruders were they, anyway?

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**Thanks for reading and the review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**So, I think I'm going to start scoring this. So, if you want to go back and look at the songs I've posted in previous chapters you can, but you don't really have to.**

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Dhaoibh wandered the streets aimlessly about Paris, sure she'd find her batch twanging about. Probably earning some money for the road. There _were _children, and the children needed to be fed. No matter ow hungry the adults war, they made sure the children didn't go unfed if they could help it. She stopped for a moment and stood among a plainly dressed working class crowd, gathered around a gaily decorated puppet stand on their way about the town. She stood far back, away, the story didn't much entertain her, she walked in at the very end. Some supposed horrible monster saved Paris from utter doom or something like that. She smiled and clapped at the end with the rest and the crowd cleared out rather quickly. She came forward to the very front of the booth, resting her chin on her hands and her elbows at the counter just on the other side of the window. She said to the man there, forgetting her location for a moment,

"Gabh mo leisgeul, Maighstir."

The man, focusing on putting away his things, shot his gaze up at her and knitted his brow in confusion for a moment, then shook his head and looked back down, ignoring her. For Clopin, he had suffered a long night along with our young foil, and he was too tired to deal with strange foreigners who said funny foreign things. It had taken forever and day to calm the people down when the deed of last night was done, and even longer for him to calm himself down. He never showed it, but it made him nervous he couldn't say what "it" was, but it came to him in the form of some nagging fear everytime an intruder was put to death.

"Forgive me, Messire." The woman spoke to him again, differently this time, in exceptional yet still accented French. "I forgot for a moment where I am, and I'm sure to a Gaul such as you Scottish Gaelic does not sound quite so much like a language as it does an incurable ailment of the throat." He looked up at her once again, she smiled hopefully at him. He could not see her face, just a silhouette. He sighed, his shoulders heaved and he hurriedly put away his things, standing up and in an attempt to be polite said, "What can I help you with, Mademoiselle?" He took up his hat and placed it on his dark head. It shielded his face from the woman before him. There, now they were even.

"I was just passing through town, but it's getting late and I have no money. Any idea where I can earn a night's stay?"

A pair of dull grey-blue eyes met hers beneath the brim of a purple hat. "No need for earning, mademoiselle, if it's just one night you seek, I know a place you can stay for free, no bargains or payments required. After dark, over there," He pointed in the direction of the cemetery. For any one who asked it, he was happy to provide help. The woman that stood before him looked even more worn and well-used than he was. He took little notice of her other than this fact. Almost upon his finishing the sentence, he sent her away from him.

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When Clopin Trouillefou plodded back to the Court of Miracles the girl he met was waiting there in the darkness, crouched on the ground just outside the gates. He hustled to her and offered her his hand. It was the manner of him to move quickly about everywhere he went. It do him justice to do anything slowly. Suprised at the energy exuded from this man who hours ago seemed shaken to the bone to simply standing up, she took it and he led her to a sinister-looking tomb stone. He grunted to push off the cement slab and lept in. He told her to come in as well. She stood there.

"Come on! Before somone sees you!"

"You want me to climb into a dark confined space with a complete stranger and a man, no doubt..." She eyed him curiously. "I don't know who you are, I don't know where you're going to take me, I don't even know your name."

Clopin sighed and rolled his eyes, retreating further into the catacombs. Dhaoibh clutched the dagger he kept at her hip and followed. She followed the sound of his footsteps, with each foot she grew tenser. He turned a corner, she did so a little cautiously a few moments later, and at the end of the action found a hole of light and the silhouette of a thin man jumping through the hole. He waited there for her and helped her out of the missing piece of wall.

"Welcome to your night's accomodation."

She stepped out and found what seemed to be an entire colony of French Gypsies. Clopin stood a little straighter than normal with pride at the awe with which the stranger eyed his people and his kingdom. He gave her the breifest of tours. It was an acceptable place for men and women who would otherwise be homeless to live, and there wasn't much to see. The caravans of his people, the exit, his caravan, and lastly the tombs, the most terrifying thing in the entire catacombs, save for the rats. He was a bit put out at the fact the bodies had not yet been removed completely to the recesses of the catacombs, and instead were haphazardly arranged at the beginning of the encoved pocket where anyone would have to step over them to get anywhere further in. He looked over at the young traveller, who's face was one of exponentially growing concern.

**(Julie Fowlis- Mo Dhomhnallan Fhein)**

"What's this?" She asked, seeming suddenly quite out of her element.

"Oh, just some intruders. I'd assume they were planning to attack us late last night. Or very early this morning, whichever suits your fancy." He informed her, dismissing it as nothing at all, and attempting to move on, stepping in front of her and walking to the right to go on with his business.

"No." She said. He turned back around an looked back at her, blinking away tears, beginning to drop to her knees whilst staring at the pile they'd made themselves the previous night. "No, this is my clan, these are my people! Wh- What have you _done_ to them?" She was beginning to become hysterical and he quickly attempted to quiet her. She could have woken someone.

"They looked like a threat." He explained quickly. "You have 18 people show up at your doorstep and try to keep your compsure. I thought they were going to threaten the security of my people." He stood straight and rigid. This was quite an uncomfortable predicament indeed.

"There is no word, nor is there any combination of words in French or Gaelic that can express how deeply I doubt that." He shot back at him a little too quickly, each word laced with anger and discomfort. "What about the children?" She demanded.

"There were no children." Really, there weren't.

Dhaoibh visibly relaxed, she gave a sigh of the deepest relief she'd ever felt. "No children..." She whispered. then the young woman continued to stare blankly at the bodies on the floor.

"I can't say I'm sorry to you." Clopin announced loudly enough for any passerbys to hear, and crouched closer to the girl he'd taken in. "But if it's any consolation I really am sorry." Honestly, what more does a person say in a situation such as this?

"Okay."

"No, really."

"I understand." She was silent for a moment. He took a knee next to her. The saddest looke crossed her face and she stroked the cheeck of an older woman. "This is Sidhe. She was like a mother to me. And Daoirse, my best friend. This is Selwyn, my husband..."

He couldn't bear to hear the names being put to the faces of the dead. "Please, stop."

Dhaoibh took off a locket she kept around her neck. Sidhe gave it to her when Dhaoibh was little. It was only fitting that she give it back now. She wrapped the necklace around Sidhe's neck and hooked it, then took off her wedding ring and placed it in Selwyn's outstretched palm, she curled his fingers around it.

"Please leave me alone now."

Clopin nodded, and with little more expression than that he turned around and headed for his caravan, turning the brim of his hat down so that no one of his constituents saw the troubled look on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

**So, I'd like to forewarn you guys that this chapter is hastily written and tragically short. I felt like I needed to update but I just couldn't figure out what I wanted to do.**

**(Lissie- Everywhere I Go)**

Clopin shoved the sheet that hung at the entrance of his caravan away rather aggressively out of his way. It was an old caravan, he was never breifed on it's history, but surely it had been used for God knows how long. He never was a very flaily person, but tonight he simply threw himself on the floor and lay on his back on the mat he slept on, pulling his knees up and folding his hands on his stomach. All delusions of sleep might as well have gone out of the window. Not tonight. He sighed as deeply as his narrow chest would allow and turned on his side away from the doorway, away from the light. A soft rustlling was heard at the doorway and the room became suddenly darker. He turned around, looking rather like a drunkard caught out of his element and the darkened form of the girl he'd taken in stood there before a closed curtain.

"What?" He snapped. He wanted to be left alone. He'd done the same for her.

"You spent all this time showing me the ropes and I have no idea where I'm supposed to sleep. That, and I wanted to thank you for your kindness... ummm... kind of."

He grunted and rolled over to face her, saying with fleeting interest, "I wish you could speak the same for your people." He quickly rubbed his eyes and groaned. His head was starting to hurt at this outrageous situation he'd suddenly been carelessly tossed into. He pointed quickly at the right corner of the opposite side of his caravan. "There's a chair there."

She nodded and placed the tiny burlap sack in which all her belongings were kept. She sat down in the chair which barely creaked under her weight. Like everything else in this bloody place, it was old. An uncomfortable silence filled the empty space and he heard the woman shift around in the darkness.

"You never told me your name." He muttered into the darkness.

She remained silent for a few more moments and then took a ragged breath finally and said, "I'm not sure I want to anymore." Her whisper broke and stared to catch on itself, and he knew she was upset (and rightly so). "But, I mean if it makes any difference to you, my name's Dhaoibh. And you?"

"Clopin."

She made a little noise that sounded like a "huh", just a tiny little sigh in the blackness.

Assumedly she was unimpressed, angry, hurt. What else could he say other than 'sorry' and leave it at that? What else, now, could he think about and since the discovery of his folly what else had he thought about? What consolation could there be for him? Thankfully, he thought, this woman would only plague him for simply hours more. Tomorrow he would go to Esmeralda, chances are she could tell him at least something to lift his spirits. The young woman was wise beyond her year. Another part of him nagged at his conciousness and told him he really shouldn't. Because, as of late, where Esmeralda was, so was Phoebus, her pretty-boy goody-two-shoes husband, he thought with a little sneer that no one could see.

He vaguely wondered, for the first time in his hazy reverie, if Dhaoibh was armed. She wasn't, but he slid his hand upwards and grabbed hold of a wooden beam he always kept close, gripping it tight, and he want to sleep.

In the morning he woke and found himself, much to his pleasure, totally unarmed, and Dhaoibh was gone.

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**Sorry about that.**

**Thanks for reading! And reviews are welcome!**


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